


In From The Cold

by bethygrace



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethygrace/pseuds/bethygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One take on the aftermath of 2x07 that we didn't get on the screen.</p><p>A cold had taken hold of Felicity's bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He knew sleep wasn't coming tonight as his head hit the pillow. The adrenaline still coursing through his veins, matching his racing thoughts pace for pace, would ensure that. Lying still after this day seemed also unnatural. As if the moment of stillness would precede another blow, another shock.

Still he tried. Closing his eyes for a moment and trying to erase the images that existed on the back of his eyelids each night.

Normally, his past came back to him then, in the still of the night when there was nothing to busy his body with, nothing to keep him focused. But tonight, the demons were different.

Tonight, he could only see Felicity.

Lying here now, he began to feel the sheer terror he had felt wash over him. Truthfully, it made his bones ache thinking of the look on her face, the way she shook underneath the Count's touch, the way her eyes pleaded with him to not break his vow to Tommy on her behalf. He couldn't hide the impact those moments had had, lying there in bed, a cold sweat breaking on his brow.

He could have lost her tonight.

His Girl Friday. His bright light. His closest friend and certainly the most honest one he has ever had.

He hadn't thought of any of those things as he pulled his bow and sent the Count flying out the window to his death. He had acted on a primal instinct, an urge that surprised him, keeping from a place within him he would rather not think about. To lose Felicity was unthinkable. She was -

Shaking his head to clear his train of thought before it went farther than he was ready to go, he reached for his phone. Just a quick check, make sure they're both home, safe and sound. Then maybe, he will be able to sleep.

Dig was stationary at his house, as Oliver had expected, but his brows clenched together when he realized Felicity was still at the Foundry, hours after both he and Diggle had left.

A tight knot curled in his chest as he quickly held down her speed dial and pulled the phone to his ear, suddenly becoming very alert.

Each ring worried him further, until finally a very quiet, "Oliver?"

The knot tightened. The voice he heard was not that belonging to his spunky IT girl, but to a timid, quiet woman.

"Felicity, what's wrong? Why aren't you home? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" his concern rolled out in waves.

"I'm uh..I'm-" by this point, Oliver was pulling shoes on and running towards the door.

"I'm coming Felicity. I'm on my way. Just hang on, okay?" he ground out, running to his car as fast as he could. He didn't know what was wrong but there was no time to waste in thinking about it.

"I'm coming Felicity," he repeated before realizing the call had already ended.

I'm coming.


	2. Chapter 2

Felicity shivered for the countless time, dropping her phone into her lap as the call ended. Oliver was coming. Somehow that thought filled her with joy and pain in the same instant. Of course he would come. He was Oliver. It didn't matter his costume, be it his green leather or his expensive Armani suits, he was still guilt-ridden, burden-bearing Oliver who felt the need to take the blame for any and all things.

She tried to roll her eyes but even that hurt.

The shaking had set in not long after Oliver left. She had been getting her stuff together to go home and the shaking started. It started with her hands, and before she knew it, she was forced to sit down or fall down. So she stayed in her chair, staring at her monitors with the blanket Digg had placed around her shoulders still clutched tight to her. Willing her hands to stop shaking didn't do any good.

Next came the pain. Diggle had warned her that the adrenaline would wear off and she would be feeling it. She was certainly kicking herself for not taking the proactive pain-killers he had recommended. She had wanted to be strong, she was strong after all. She had made it. Oliver had saved her. No harm done. On to bigger fish to fry.

But sitting in her chair trembling, she realized that her body and her mind did not agree that it was over. Every muscle ached and her head throbbed, every light in the lair searing her eyes like a laser. She was miraculously able to control her shaky legs enough to walk over the to the level that controls the lights in the lair and turn off all but the dim one over the stairs, giving her throbbing head a bit of relief.

The cold was next. And truthfully the worst part.

It started at her feet and worked it's way up to her hands. Pulling the blanket as tight as possible around her, she curled her sore muscles into a trembling ball of arms and legs. Still, she shivered. Teeth chattering as if she had just taken a swim in a freezing river.

In an attempt to warm up and to get rid of the feeling of the Count's hands on her hair, her neck, her arms, she had managed to take a shower. The scalding water had warmed her temporarily and the friction of the rough washcloth against her skin had turned her skin red by the time she realized the water was going cold. Her knees were jello as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped up in an extra-large towel, one that smelled of Oliver. She had no clothes with her so the blanket covered the rest of her as she stumbled back to her chair.

She knew she was in shock and that she needed help. But she couldn't call Diggle. He had gone through so much with the Vertigo and was finally starting to feel better. He definitely needed his rest. Oliver. Well he was with his family, and rightly so. And calling Oliver would open the can of worms that she was keeping under lock and key in her heart. After their conversation about Isabel and the disaster that was Russia, she would really rather not open that can. Nope. She was done. Oliver had saved her yes, but she wasn't about to see it as anything more than him being his vigilante, hero, amazing, self.

So she waited. Waited to get warm. Waited to snap out of it, to think clearly.

All she could feel was the cold...and pain. Oliver had killed again. He had killed for her. His words had warmed her, the fact that her life held such a value in his mind searing right to her heart. But his vow to honor Tommy rang through her mind.

The Count. Another cold chill settled over her when he crossed her mind. His cold, clammy hands kneading her neck and chest. His fingers playing with her ponytail. She hated to admit, even to herself, the fear she felt sitting in that office, waiting for Oliver. What she could never say, what he could never know. What he had planned. What his 'plan C' was. Oliver could never know. She knew how he would react and she just couldn't do it to him.

She couldn't always protect him, from others or from himself, but this time she could.

When her phone rang, she screamed in fear, the sound permeating the silence of the dark basement. With an unsteady hand, she reached out to see Oliver's face on her screen. She had tried to formulate a clear sentence but was frustrated when she realized that nothing intelligible came out. She couldn't even ramble. By the time she hung up, she knew that Oliver was likely panicking. Thinking she was in immediate danger. Already overwhelmed by his constant cocktail of guilt with a side of self-loathing.

When she heard the basement door open and his quick feet on the stairs, his voice yelling her name in concern, she tried to stand, to turn to him, to tell him she was alright. Two feet on the ground and her world began to spin on its axis, dark spots filling her field of vision. All she could think was how cold the ground would be as she started to fall.

The room was so nearly black that it was a miracle he saw her falling from the stairs.

"Felicity!" He reached her just in time, catching her before she hit the floor. Chest pounding, he rested her body against his leg, hand reaching desperately for her pulse. "Felicity! Can you hear me? Felicity!" Staring at her closed eyes, he felt the coil in his chest tighten further. Then, under his fingers, he felt it. A thin and thready pulse, but it was there. She stirred under his touch, moaning lightly as he cupped his hand around her head, looking for any signs of a bump or other injury. Seeing nothing, his hands ghosted over the rest of her, looking for any injury Diggle may have missed when she came back. She was trembling terribly and her skin was cold and clammy, even more pale than normal. Her hair was damp and he caught the faint scent of the shower gel he left in the basement. Wrapped only in a towel and a blanket, he could see the goose bumps spread all over arms and legs. Her skin was cold, lips faintly blue.

Taking this all in and realizing that she was probably in shock, he tapped her cheeks gently. "Felicity, open your eyes. Felicity, listen to me. You need to open your eyes. Open your eyes!" He pleaded. She stirred and turned her head into Oliver's chest. "Come on Felicity. Wake up. Open your eyes."

Slowly, she did as he asked and opened up spacey, unfocused eyes, " 'liver?"

He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding at the sound of her soft voice. "Hey. Shh, I'm here. Felicity, are you hurt?"

She shook her head so slightly it was almost imperceptible, more of a nudge against his chest. She blinked a few times, trying to focus on his face. "Cold."

With a quick nod, Oliver was on his feet with her cradled in his arms. Rushing to the couch against the wall, he laid her flat, tucking the blanket around her before running to turn on the lights a little brighter. Grabbing all the spare blankets they had stored and an extra pair of his training clothes, he returned to her side.

"Felicity? Are you with me?" He tapped her cheeks again, seeing her eyes fall shut. One eye opened, looking at him wearily, "Don't have...have much choice."

Never had her dry wit been such a reassurance to him. She may be incoherent but her humor was alive and kicking. "No, you don't. I need you to stay awake, okay? I'm going to change you into some warmer clothes and we'll get you warm. Okay? Keep your eyes open Felicity."

He didn't think twice when he unwrapped the towel around her midsection. Doing his best to preserve her privacy, he slid a pair of his sweatpants over her legs, socks over her icy feet and lifted her shoulders off the couch and into his grey hoodie. In all his oversized clothes, she looked tiny and even more vulnerable then before. The knot in his chest clenched a little tighter as the urge to protect flared again in his heart. Piling on all the blankets he had, Oliver took her icy hands in his and rubbed them gently, breathing warm air onto them before rubbing them again.

She was fighting to keep her eyes open, but Oliver saw the exhaustion winning out. She was in shock, that much he knew, and the adrenaline that had kept her going had completely worn off, leaving her trembling in its wake. Sitting there on the edge of the couch, he saw the color begin to return to her pale face as the warmth made its way into her bones.

With a slightly stronger voice, she tried again, "Oliv-Oliver. What..why di-did you come?" She fixed him with a tired yet curious look.

Continuing to rub her hands for warmth, he didn't look at her, "I saw you were still here. I was worried...after everything that happened tonight, I didn't know...why didn't you go home Felicity?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, seeming to gain a bit of strength through the action before focusing on him again, "I started shaking. I couldn't stop."

He nodded, blowing again onto her icy hands once more before tucking them underneath the cocoon of blankets. "It's shock Felicity. And the adrenaline wore off. Once we get you warm and you rest, you'll be okay."

She seemed to accept this, letting her eyes flutter closed and her head fall to the side. " 'kay," she breathed.

Scrubbing a rough hand over his face, Oliver shut his eyes. His own adrenaline rush, the pure drive that had launched him out of bed and to Verdant was starting to fade. She was okay. Pushed to the brink of exhaustion, but okay. Leaning forward, he placed a gently hand across her forehead, relieved to feel the soft skin under his hand warming slowly. She was breathing steadily, and only faintly trembling as he tucked the blankets around her.

Pulling up her desk chair to the side of the couch, he reached one hand under the blankets to find hers and grasped it tightly, gently running his fingers over her knuckles.

He'd be here when she woke up. She would probably need to talk about what happened. Clearly, it shook her more than any of them initially realized. Clearly, it had shaken him more than he had realized. Casting a concerned eye to her pale face, the knot in his chest felt too tight to bear. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him and his eyes shuttered closed.


	3. Chapter 3

He set the phone down, walking back to her, scratching her skin lightly as he drew the barrel of the revolver up her arm, across her shoulder, before dipping it down between her breasts. With a shudder, she tried to turn away and get out of his grasp but his hand caught the back of her neck, clasping it so tightly she whimpered.

"Well well, you're clearly quite important to our little green archer…he seemed to be quite upset over the phone." His hand ran up her legs, ghosting over thighs and hips. She blew out a terrified breath and tried to muster all the bravery she could.

"You're going to regret that," her voice was weaker than she would have liked, but if she couldn't fight back, she was going to threaten with all her might. She knew Oliver would care of this, especially after what had happened to John. What was happening to her.

No. No. Don't go there Felicity. Keep your mind clear.

Her mind went blank as rough and cruel hands clenched at her chest, causing her to cry out in pain and fear. The trembling starting at her toes and worked it's way up until she knew was she shaking like a leaf. His hands were pawing all over her chest, neck, arms, and hips. Roughly, slimy, cold, groping.

Oliver. She wanted Oliver.

"Oh I don't know that I will. I'm going to enjoy watching Mr. Oliver Queen, or maybe he will come as the nefarious vigilante to rescue his damsel in distress…either way, I'm going to enjoy every minute. We can put on a show…" Her heart thundered as he kept whispering in her ear what he wanted to do, hands clenching her legs.

When his hand dipped beneath her skirt, she felt spots fill her vision and screamed.

Arms swung and legs kicked as she screamed, trying to loose herself from the heavy weight she felt over her. "Oliver!" The cry tore from her throat as she felt strong hands grasp her wrists and try to still them.

"Felicity! Shhh, wake up Felicity. You're safe!" his voice began to penetrate her panic, sounding strong and sure yet scared in the same moment. The hands on her wrists were firm but gentle, his thumb lightly stroking her pulse point.

That touch anchored her as she felt her heart begin to slow down, that and his soft murmurs near her ear, "Shh, breathe Felicity. Take slow breaths. In and out."

She obeyed, forcing air in and out of the lungs that felt so tight and full she was afraid they would burst. In and out. She breathed until her heart had calmed, noticing that a firm calloused hand had made its way to cup her cheek. Feeling a cold that no blanket would chase away, she leaned her head into his hand, feeling him stroke her cheekbone in response.

"Shhh, you're safe. You're safe." For someone capable of ferocious attack, he was surprisingly gentle and soothing.

Feeling a measure of safety as she continued to wake, she wearily opened her eyes, blinking to gain focus. He was there, seated at the edge of the couch, hip to hip, his eyes a storm of concern and barely contained rage. Yep, and there it was – an added layer of grief.

With a shaky sigh, she lifted the hand not still in his and touched his forearm. She told herself it was to reassure him that she was okay, that this wasn't his fault, but the comfort she felt feeling his strong muscle underneath her hand was unexpected.

"Felicity?" She shifted her eyes back to his, seeing the questions there under the surface, his forehead creased. His mouth opened, and closed again. He looked bereft, lost.

There was a part of her that wanted to pull him down to her, to bury her face in his chest and let it out. To tell him everything, to let him cover her with his arms and fight back the darkness that had corrupted her rest.

But she didn't. She couldn't. He couldn't know. Looking into his eyes right now, she could see the guilt there, the weight of the world that he carried every day. She had seen it in his eyes when he killed the Count, when he looked at her after the fact. She couldn't add to it. If he knew…

"Felicity, talk to me," he ground out, the note of urgency betraying the calm look he was giving her.

"I'm…I'm tired." She knew it was a cop-out, but she needed time. Time to pull herself together. Time to bury this.

His concerned look returned and she felt his hand move to stroke her forehead lightly, "Okay. Rest then." He reached out to tuck the mountain of blankets more securely around her and began to sit back into his chair.

Her hand shot out unbidden to grab his wrist. His eyes shot to hers and her jaw dropped a bit, unsure as to what she wanted to say. She saw his face soften a bit, and he reached behind him to pull the chair a little closer, his hand cradling hers gently. "I'll be right here, Felicity. Just rest."

Nodding slightly, she let her eyes close, feeling his thumb tracing a nervous pattern on the back of her hand.

Oliver watched her eyelids flutter and her face relax before he moved an inch. He told himself it was because he didn't want to disturb her but he honestly didn't know if he could move in that moment.

Her moans had woke him first. She had looked distressed, tossing slightly on her pillow. He had squeezed her hand and she had calmed for a bit, that was until her body started to thrash, to fight back against whatever demon she was facing.

Unfortunately, he could imagine exactly who it was she was fighting.

When she screamed his name, he was pretty sure his heart shattered. Never before had he heard her that afraid, that desperate.

And she was calling for him.

Even as his mind began to stew in its guilt, he could hear her voice in his head fighting him back. She would be telling him that it wasn't his fault. That it was her life, her choice.

But he couldn't help the pain he felt seeing her in that chair, shaken, terrified. And her words, her plea not to kill him for her, continued to ring in his head. Did she really think her life was not more important than his vow?

"Oliver?"

He knew he was concerned when he turned and realized that he had missed the sound of Diggle coming down the Foundry steps. With a finger to his lips, he nodded back to the sleeping blonde on the couch before Diggle could speak again.

A concerned wrinkle made its way onto the former soldier's face and he pulled a chair up next to him where he could observe her. He looked to Oliver for an explanation, and didn't try to hide the undercurrent of rage he still felt.

"She was still here last night. She never left. The adrenaline wore off and it all hit her. She was shaking and cold," his eyes traced back to her pale face, glancing over her delicate features, feeling the knot in his chest tighten a bit further.

"She had a nightmare, Digg."

The statement had more weight than he intended. But to him, it was a weighty revelation. Whether or not she had had nightmares before, it didn't matter. She had a nightmare because of him. She had woken up screaming because of him.

"Oliver, don't go there. You know she made her choice. Just be grateful that you got to her in time."

His eyes shut tightly as he willed his body to calm down. The rage he had felt last night was still there, still bubbling under the surface. Seeing her this vulnerable was bringing things up in him that he did not want to think about. This was precisely why he had told her what he did after the incident in Russia. He couldn't care about anyone. Because if he did, something like this would happen.

"Oliver. It's too late for that now. You already do."

His eyes flew open as he realized he had picked up on a bad habit of Felicity's. His thoughts had been spoken aloud. Glancing to Digg, he knew it was too late to pull them back.

"Digg-"

"No Oliver, at some point, you're going to have to realize that whether you want to or not, there is something here. Tonight just proves that. Let me ask you a question. Did you hesitate for a second when the Count almost injected her?"

Oliver pressed his lips into a tight line. He didn't need to respond, the truth was right there on his face.

"That means something Oliver. You need to think about why that is. You could have lost her tonight. Be grateful that you didn't." With a firm hand to his shoulder, Diggle got up and walked off, leaving Oliver alone with his thoughts and the beautiful enigma that was Felicity.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oliver?" Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to look at her as she woke.

"Hey," his voice matched the softness of hers and his hand squeezed hers as he moved to sit on the edge of the couch. "How do you feel?"

She closed her eyes for another moment and looked up at him with more awareness,"I'm warm. I'm pretty sure I have a flock of sheep on top of me."

He should've smiled, it would've made her smile. But all he could do was expel an uneasy breath. Her humor was always a bright light in his life, and today, he needed it. Noting that her hand was quite warm, he pulled some of the blankets off of her, leaving a lightweight one. Seeing her there eyeing him with a trusting gaze stoked the primal possessive feeling he'd been nursing and he surreptitiously tucked the blanket around her.

She was staring at him and he had to admit, it was somewhat unnerving. They had shared some pretty intense looks before, mostly when arguing or when showing their loyalty to the other, but this was different. There was something in her eyes that he didn't know what to do with. Didn't know how to face. Didn't know how to define.

She broke the look with a quick breath and looked around the lair, "What time is it?"

Shaking his head a bit, he looked down at the phone he had been messing with earlier. "It's a little after 8."

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline and she made a move to jump up, throwing the blanket aside, "We're going to be late. Oliver we have to go. We're going to be late!"Her foot hit the floor and her body would've followed had Oliver not caught her around the waist as her legs gave out.

"Whoa whoa. Take it easy." He pushed her shoulders down gently, not giving her an option about sitting down. "You're not going in today."

A defiant look began to spread across her face but before he could respond, it transformed into a blank expression of acceptance.

He didn't know what to do with that. He had readied himself for the fight that was inevitably coming. The knot of concern that had made its way into his chest tightened even further.

She seemed to brush off the out of character moment, turning to him with somewhat weary eyes, "Well are you going to let me get to work? Who's next on the Arrow's almighty queue of justice?"

He reached out, grabbing both of her hands. This kind of emotional face-to-face was far from his expertise, but he was concerned that if she stuffed this down, it would rear its ugly head later.

"Felicity, do you need to talk about last night? About your..your nightmare?" He tried to keep his voice gentle and encouraging. It was strange for him to be engaging her this way, but she seemed to take it in stride.

"Oliver, you saved me last night. And as much as I hate to admit it, I needed saving because of my own choices. It was not your fault. I chose to go." He could see the concerted effort she was making not to ramble and to keep her sentences clear and concise. While it was impressive that she could tamp down her long-winded explanations, it also told him she was trying to keep a tight rein on herself. He could see her putting her thoughts neatly together in her head, organizing them in a way that kept blame off his shoulders.

He started to open his mouth to reply when a ping from her computer sounded and both their heads flipped up. Before he could stop her, she was off, running to check on search results or something like that. With a heavy sigh, he let her go, not wanting to push her too far.

They would have this conversation, but for now, he would give her the space she was clearly wanting.

Work provided the perfect distraction for Felicity. The week was going by quickly and she was able to keep her mind off what had happened, at least when she was around Oliver and Diggle.

The nightmares were still as bad as they were the first night, but that was her burden to bear. She began to understand Oliver a bit better. Here she was in protective mode, shielding him from something that she knew would only add to his pain. As much as she hated his fear of opening up about the island, she understood it a little better now.

She felt his eyes on her constantly. In the office. In the lair. He had wanted her to talk, to open up to him that day. And with the busyness of the theft of QC and Barry being around to help, she thought that would shake off his worry.

Barry was a more than welcome distraction. He was intelligent, and cute in a dorky way. No, he wasn't shaped like Adonis with the most amazing blue eyes she had ever seen. Instead, he was smart and more importantly, interested in her. It felt good to be flirted with again, to relate to someone on a different level, and to be able to show that openly.

She had enjoyed dancing with him at the Queen's party. He didn't know what he was doing, but he was trying, and she had to admit that it endeared him to her a bit. She was beyond proud of herself for being okay with his hands on her as they danced. Good sign she was getting over what had happened with the Count, she thought.

Until they had sat down side by side and Barry had placed a tentative hand on her knee, she thought she was okay.

Oliver wasn't sure what it was about Barry Allen that made him angry. He didn't need a reason, of course, despite the little jabs Dig had been making toward him. He had to protect her, to make sure she was safe.

But there was another layer of something there, something he still couldn't define.

He was watching her closely, and he knew that she had picked up on it. But something in him was still wound up after the incident with the Count. A quick chill went up his spine as memories of that night and her nightmare brushed across his mind. Was she still having nightmares? Would she tell him if she did?

Pressing his lips into a firm line, he watched Barry awkwardly lead her across the dance floor. She seemed to be having a good time, with a pleasant, relaxed smile on her face. Seeing Barry's eyes gazing at her unleashed something inside of him. Not rage per se. Maybe it was a little jealousy as Dig had implied. But while she was important to him, she wasn't his.

His thoughts were interrupted as he saw Barry lead her off the floor to sit on the opposite side of the room. The kid's hand awkwardly fell to land on her knee and he saw her flinch. His brows furrowed together as he watched her eyes widen a bit and her face pale. She looked frightened for some reason.

Senses on high alert, he did a quick sweep of the room and the exits with his eyes, looking for the threat, for what had scared her. Seeing nothing, he found himself walking towards her with a bit of urgency before he gave himself the chance to overthink it.

"Felicity?" Her eyes shifted nervously up to him and his stomach dropped. The same fear he had seen in her eyes that night was covering the clear blue. Glancing quickly at her hands, he saw the slight tremble. "Could I speak with you for a moment, we have an issue to resolve." He was grateful his voice came out as professional as it did. She surprised him by standing quickly, moving close to his side before turning and granting a polite "excuse me" to Barry.

Oliver's hand found the small of her back and the other found her elbow, gently leading her away from the main room. She let him, trembling under his hands. He pulled her into the study, shutting the door on his way in and guiding her to the couch on the far wall.

"Felicity, what is it?" He spoke gently, trying to keep his fear and desperation out of his voice. Crouching in front of her, he grasped her trembling hands in his and stroked concerned thumbs along her knuckles.

She had yet to look him in the eye and appeared to be reining herself in. When her eyes lifted, the ever present coil of possessiveness tightened in his chest.

"I'm...I'm okay. I just sort of had a moment in there. Or a second really, not a moment. Though there isn't really a precise amount of time attributed to a moment -"

Normally, her babbling was endearing. Paired with trembling hands and a frightened expression, it concerned him. He squeezed her hands, trying to help her focus.

The motion stopped her and she looked down, seemingly intrigued by the pattern his thumbs were making on the back of her hands.

"Felicity, when Barry touched your leg, you looked terrified," he said, softly but firmly. "Did he hurt you?"

Shaking her head stiffly, she looked up at him, "No no no, Barry would never hurt me."

Something about the easy trust he heard in her voice stung. Part of him wanted to draw his hands back, but the bigger part of him knew there was something more. She was hurting.

"Talk to me, Felicity."

Their eyes met again, this time with an intensity that he felt in his toes. So much was swirling in her eyes that it was hard to look away. What shocked him most was the layer of guilt he could see. He couldn't understand it. She had nothing - nothing at all - to feel guilty about.

She licked her lips and took a shuddering breath, "I just - I just wasn't expecting Barry to do that." Her eyes darted around nervously and he moved his head slightly to catch her glance again, knowing there was more. "It just made me uncomfortable."

Confused, his brow furrowed, "Uncomfortable how? I'm happy to have him escorted out if he bothers you Felicity, you know that."

She shook her head, "It's not...it's not that Oliver." She pulled her hands out of his to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles from her dress, looking anywhere but at him.

His heart was pounding in his chest. She was not acting normal - or at least, normal for Felicity. She should be babbling, putting him in his place, anything but this.

Raising on hand to rest softly on her cheek, he pulled her eyes to his, "Felicity. Whatever it is, you can tell me." She tried to look away and he pulled her back. "Felicity. You can trust me."

The words hung heavy in the air for a moment and he felt some of the tension in her body relax, her tight shoulders falling just a bit. Raising a hand to cover his, she turned soft eyes to him, "Oliver, I trust you with my life. Never doubt that."

He took that as his opening, "Then talk to me."

A resigned look passed across her face and she tugged his hand softly, indicating for him to sit next to her on the couch. He did, turning himself to face her, recapturing her hands in his. She pulled one away as she straightened, clearly needing to maintain a sense of control.

"I'm jumpy. Not so much with you or Digg, but with others. With you and Digg, it's just different. You're my guys. I mean, not my guys as in I own you or you belong to me, I just - " she paused, pulling herself together, "something happened Oliver. I didn't want to tell you because I know you. I know you will find some way to make it your fault, and you'll add it to the weight of the world you carry around everyday. And while you may look like a Greek god, you don't actually carry the world on your shoulders."

She glanced up at him then, trying to gauge his reaction. He squeezed her hand with an encouraging nod.

"When I went after the vertigo-tainted vaccines, that was my choice. My idea. Completely my idea. I knew it was risky, but I needed to do something to help Digg and the others. I had to do something. So we agree then that me getting captured was my fault, yes?"

He stared hard at her. He could obviously argue the point, but he knew that she was laying groundwork for whatever she was going to tell him. It wasn't the time. With a sharp nod, he prompted her to continue.

"While we were waiting for you to show up, which thank you for doing that by the way, he uh -," her next words caught in her throat and he felt a tremor start in her hand. She looked poised to flee.

He didn't say anything, just placed a soft hand on her arm. She flinched in response and shot him an apologetic look immediately. He dropped his arm, a tendril of hot something beginning to light in his chest.

She swallowed hard and let her eyes fall closed, "The count, he uh, he told me that he had plans for you. Ways to torture you. He wanted to shoot you, but he also had other ideas. Ideas...ideas that included me." She squirmed under his gaze and unconsciously tugged on her dress as if making sure it was all in place. One hand went to rub her collarbone nervously.

Suddenly the air left his lungs. Realization dawned on him. The shaking, the shock, her flinching away from people, the way she kept smoothing her clothes, the nightmares.

No.

Hot rage coursed through him, making his hands shake of their own accord. Felicity noticed the slight motion and looked to him with pained, frightened eyes. Closing his own briefly, Oliver gave himself a moment to compose himself. She needed him calm. She needed him to be strong in this moment.

His mouth felt dry and his eyes felt heavy as he caught her gaze again. "Felicity," he whispered, shocked at how tight his own voice sounded, "Did he...did he touch you?"

He couldn't say it. He couldn't put that word in the same sentence as her name. But based on the quick flinch and the tightness of her shoulders, he could tell she knew what he was asking.

He waited, his heart pounding so loud that he could hear nothing else. Waited and prayed for her to brush this off, to tell him she was fine. Anything... but the soft whisper he heard.

"Yes."


	5. Chapter 5

"Yes."

She felt his hand tighten on hers, almost of its own accord and hesitantly lifted her eyes to his face. Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were dark, flinty and grey, rage and something else marbling the normally light blue. His jaw was clenched, eyebrows furrowed. He looked like the Arrow in that moment. Body tight and face contorted in anger, pain, something she couldn't put her finger on. What ripped the breath from her throat were the tears filling his eyes. Tears for her.

With a shaky hand, she reached out to touch his face, knowing the torrent that was likely pulling him under right now. The only other time he had cried, that she was aware of, was the night Tommy died. His pain shocked her to the core. She knew him. She had had a week to deal with the emotions. He was getting hit by them for the first time. His eyes held hers, staring hard.

She steeled herself against the feelings threatening to overwhelm her in the moment, they would need to wait, and set her lips in a firm line, "Oliver? What happened that night, I don't blame you. It was not your fault." He shut his eyes tightly and she saw a single tear leak down his cheek. Knowing he was at the edge of losing control, she scooted closer and put her hands on his tight forearms. "Oliver, listen to me. It's not your fault." Her voice was soft and clogged with the pain of her admission. This was what she had wanted to avoid. This pain. The pain he would now add to his list of life failures.

He abruptly stood, turning his back to her and taking a few steps away. She immediately felt the chill that came from the loss of contact and shivered. His nearness had been a comfort and an anchor as she spoke. Now that it was gone, she felt the weight of her words on the room. And the cold she had felt since that night.

The guilt washed over her, and suddenly she knew how he felt whenever someone close to him was hurt. But this time, like many of the others, it was different. He wasn't at fault. She had to pull him back. Before she could think of how to do that, his broken, strained voice carried over to her.

"I'm sorry."

His tone brought a tear to her own eye, which was quickly wiped away. She moved towards him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder before facing him.

"Oliver, you saved me. You got me out of there before anything worse could – "

Tormented eyes turned to stare at her. "Anything worse, Felicity?" his pained whisper felt like a sledge hammer to the chest. She bit her lip, turning away for a moment before she felt a hand grab her shoulders. "Felicity?"

"No. I will not let you bear this burden Oliver Queen." Even as the words left her mouth, she felt the lump in her throat choke her. The tears she had held back for a week were threatening to fall. Shutting her eyes tightly, she felt two strong arms drag her closer. She fought back, struggled against him. His hand brushed across her collarbone and she yelped, stumbling back.

His hands released her and she caught herself beginning to shake again. Mustering all the strength she had in her, she raised her chin and opened her eyes to his face.

Standing ten feet away, his shoulders were tight and his face look tortured, much like it did when he realized Sarah was still alive. His arms were outstretched a bit, as if he wanted nothing more than to draw her to him. To comfort her. But the look in his eyes was something she couldn't deal with. She felt as if she had been struck, knowing her admission had put the pain there. This was why she hadn't said anything. This moment right here. When he took her burden onto his shoulders. She couldn't bear for him to feel any more pain. Not because of her.

With a clear voice she didn't know she was capable of, she spoke, keeping her eyes on his the entire time, "Oliver, this was not your fault. I know what you're thinking and I know that you're convinced you are responsible for this, but you're not. The Count is, and I'm the one who put myself on the line. Not because you asked me to, but because I wanted to. This isn't your fault." He stared at her, worry, pain, rage, and a million other emotions swirling there. "This is my burden to bear," she ground out, willing her voice to stay strong, to not waver. She hoped he didn't hear it hitch as a sob caught in her throat.

With that, she turned before she lost her nerve and walked through the study door, not pausing until she was at the door of her Mini. She didn't know if he was behind her, she couldn't stop to look. She couldn't look at his tortured eyes again. She had to get out before the emotion she had kept in check threatened to roll over her.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there staring at the door she had just exited. It felt like an eternity and a second in the same moment. Time didn't exist. The sounds of the party outside was drowned out by the blood rushing through his veins.

Words had failed him and even now, he couldn't formulate a single one. He couldn't even describe what he was thinking or feeling. Rage. Devastation. Pain. Compassion. Concern. And other things he was afraid to admit.

He should have run after her, he knows, but his feet were still glued in place.

Felicity. His Felicity.

The pain in his chest had reached a startling magnitude and his hand came up to rub his shoulder, wondering if his body was giving in to the heart attack he was sure he was experiencing. Scrubbing a rough hand over his face, he was shocked to feel the wetness there, the tears that had slipped from his eyes at her admission.

A part of him wanted to deny it. To tell himself it wasn't possible. That it didn't happen. Not to his Felicity. She was safe, and whole, and innocent, and he had saved her in time. That she was shaken, but would recover and return to being her bright, cheery, babbling self.

But the reality grounded him. She was hurt, wounded in ways that a bullet or vial of Vertigo could never wound her. He had seen the devastation in her eyes, the pain she was holding back, the emotions she was reining in. Looking back over the last week, he realized she had been doing it all week. Keeping herself in check. Under control. He honestly didn't know how she had done it. Why she hadn't fallen apart.

Why she hadn't told him.

He knew that he and Digg were the people closest to her in her life. He was embarrassed to realize he didn't know how close she was to her family, or if she had any other friends she could go to. His heart ached realizing that she had likely been bearing this weight on her own. Her own secret. Her own demons.

A wave of grief washed over him, followed by the guilt he lived with everyday, but this time it threatened to bury him completely. Not only had it happened, but she had hid it from him. She had kept it a secret because she didn't want to add to his guilt. If only she knew how that compounded the weight he felt in that moment.

She was...she was more than just important to him. She was essential, vital. As important to his existence as the blood in his veins. He had felt the pain radiating from her as if he was in her shoes. And oh how he wished he was. He would have happily stood in the gap, taken the attack, taken the pain. He would've...should've shielded her, protected her, saved her.

But he had been too late. Too late to keep the Count from stealing a part of Felicity that he treasured. Her beautiful purity. Her heart held a beauty that kept him human. She wasn't naive, but she was good. All of her was good. She was the light in his life, and while he had never told her this, that light had pulled him back from the edge more than once. And while he hoped that hadn't been damaged, that her beautiful light hadn't been extinguished, the pain in her eyes made him wonder if it was still there.

The fear bubbled under the surface. That this was the last straw. That now she would leave. While he could understand it, and had expected it eventually, a deep resounding loss filled him at the thought of her not being in his life. She had become such a seamless part of his world that he wasn't sure it wouldn't fall apart without her there. He was worried that he would fall apart without her there.

Shaking his head, he knew how selfish he was. It would probably be better for her to leave, to get away from him, to be safe again. She put herself - he put her - in the line of fire by even being associated with him. And the worst had happened. No she hadn't been killed, she was still alive, but he was afraid that a part of her had been destroyed that couldn't be replaced or repaired. That his life had destroyed his Felicity.

He was debating on whether he should go to her when he heard the door open. Senses dulled he merely looked up to see Diggle enter, hand on his sidearm, looking confused as to why Oliver was standing rigid in a dark room.

"Oliver? What's going on? The party's over and -" The soldier's eyes narrowed, seeing the dried tear tracks on his face. "You alright man?"

Oliver's eyes shut of their own volition, almost wishing Digg would just shoot him and put him out of the misery he was feeling wash over him. He was currently drowning in it.

"It's...Felicity." The weakness of his own voice floored him. He sounded about as broken as he felt and he didn't attempt to hide it.

Something gripped Digg's heart and squeezed as he heard Oliver say her name.

"Where is she? Is she safe? Did someone take her? Oliver?!" he practically shouted, pulling his sidearm and darting his eyes around the room.

Oliver opened his eyes and didn't even attempt to school his features in front of his partner, a fact which shook Digg more than he would care to admit, "We were too late Digg. I was too late."

Heart pounding and adrenaline beginning to spike, he moved closer to Oliver and grabbed his arm harshly, trying to shake the younger man from the state he was in, "Oliver you need to start explaining right now."

And he did. Slowly and painfully, Oliver broke his heart with each word. By the time he stopped, they were both sitting, a bit shaky, leaning up against the wood desk in the room, shoulder to shoulder. With clenched fists, Digg let his eyes fall closed, a bit of moisture leaking out as he let Oliver's words sink in.

As much as he hated to voice it, he had wondered if it had occurred. He had watched her withdraw a bit that week. Be a little more jumpy around others. But she had seemed fine around him and Oliver, and even warm to that Barry kid, so he put it out of his mind.

"I didn't protect her Digg," the broken statement coming from the man beside him only made the issue worse. Considering what Oliver had told him, it sounded like he wasn't the only one on protection duty right now. "She didn't say anything, to either of us."

His own voice sounded a bit choked, "Oliver, you know how brave she is, and how smart, but I think you forget how selfless she is too. She was protecting you."

Dark eyes flashed to him quickly and a dark look passed across the short distance, "What?"

Digg sighed, willing down his own anger at the news and realizing that the best thing he could do for Felicity in that moment was to get through to Oliver. So he could be there. He knew what was lingering between them even though they didn't see it themselves. It was obvious from the outside. But they were both so stubborn and equally selfish and selfless that they pushed and pulled each other like a massive game of tug-of-war. This wasn't the time for Oliver to face his feelings, but it was time for him to understand the woman that Digg knew held him together. She needed him at his best right now. Both of them.

"Oliver, she knew what would happen when she told you, she even said that. She knew you would see it as a failure on your part. That you would take the blame." His partner started to speak but Digg put a hand up to stop him. "You don't get it. What she went through, what she's going through...she doesn't want you to feel the pain. She would rather stay silent and bear the weight herself than to see you tortured like you are right now." He waited, watching his words penetrate the fog Oliver found himself in. The look of confusion on his face was expected.

"But why would she do that Digg. She doesn't need to protect me. That's my job. I protect her. It's the way this works."

With a small smile, Digg shook his head, "How can you know work with that girl day in and day out and not understand who she is? You are so blind to what's right in front of you."

Oliver looked away, unsettled and still not seeing. Diggle sighed, trying to figure out how best to explain this to him.

Biting his lip, he stared into the dark of the room.

"Felicity heard Tommy die."

Oliver's hands stilled on his knees where they had been clenching and unclenching repeatedly. He said nothing, telling Digg that he had the younger man's attention.

"The com was still on. She told me about it later. She wanted to turn it off but she couldn't. She didn't want you to be alone."

Glancing sideways, he saw Oliver's jaw hanging slightly open and would never comment on the tear he saw slip down his cheek.

"She was there and heard you. She heard your pain. After you left, weeks later, she admitted that she had wanted nothing more than to take Tommy's place, to somehow shield you from that. To protect you."

Letting the words linger in the air for a moment, Digg turned slightly towards Oliver, wanting the words he said to have significant weight. "She stayed in the basement Oliver, while it was collapsing around her. She was terrified. She had nightmares the entire time you were gone. And she would do it again. She would rather stay there and be there for you, to make sure you're not alone, than get out of a building that could have buried her."

Oliver's whisper sounded pained but aware, slowly understanding what Digg was trying to say, "She never told me. She never said anything. I asked her if she was okay and she said she was."

"Of course she did Oliver, she knew you couldn't handle any more guilt, any more pain. She wanted to shield you from it. Protect you in the one way she could. And she is doing the same thing now."

Oliver pushed to his feet and began to pace, seeming more tormented yet calm in the same moment. "But the roles are reversed. She...how could she not be broken?" He glanced towards Digg, seeming to tense at the thought, "Digg how can she not hate me right now?"

Rising to meet him, Digg fixed him with a stern look, "Stop it Oliver. This isn't about you." The Arrow look, or what Felicity described aptly as his "grrr" face appeared for a moment. "Felicity doesn't need you taking the guilt for this right now. She needs you to be there for her. Why do you think she didn't tell you? For this exact reason. She can't take care of you right now Oliver. She is trying to hold herself together for your sake. And I'm telling you, if she has to do it much longer, she's going to break."

The words hit their mark and a calm settled over Oliver. He waited, and moments later Oliver's eyes rose to meet his, clear with purpose and concern.

"Go to her man. Go be strong for her. Like she always is for you."

With a short nod, Oliver turned and walked from the room, with a concerted sense of purpose and a bit of urgency.

Wiping a hand over his face, Digg watched him go, whispering into the empty room.

"Take care of her."


	6. Chapter 6

She knew he would come. He was Oliver after all. And if there was one thing she could count on with Oliver was his predictability. That often translated into his ridiculous guilt complex, but she saw the larger theme of dependability. Stability. His desire to be there and to take care of those in his life, no matter the cost.

And she chose to take Oliver in his entirety, guilt, demons and all.

Because of that, she knew he would come eventually. To check on her, make sure her windows were locked, that her alarm system was functioning. To make sure she was still here and hadn't run off to another city, away from the weight of his secret and his mission. Away from him. He would also come to assuage his own guilt. To see the pain in her face and let it add to the mantle he already carried around his neck each day.

Truthfully, she wished he would stay away for the very same reason. But she knew he would come.

So she washed her face of the tears that had stubbornly fallen. She smoothed her hair back into a neat ponytail. She even took the time to brush her teeth, though she didn't know why. Anything that made her feel put together added a layer of brick to the wall she needed to keep high while he was there. A part of her wanted, no needed, to crash and burn in his arms. To cry, to let herself feel the pain that had been bubbling under the surface. But not with him here. She couldn't.

Clenching her fists around her bathroom counter, she took in her appearance in the mirror. The tender tissue beneath her eyes was darker than concealer could effectively cover, clear evidence of the nightmares that haunted her dreams. The bruises she tried so hard to cover were visible along her arms and peeking out above the neckline of her tank top. Her breasts were black and blue, and dressing that week had been tortuous as a result. Thankfully, that was easy to hide from Oliver and Diggle, but the bruises on her arms a little less so. Tonight, they seemed to take on a life all their own, taunting her. She could feel the nerve endings beneath them still firing, remembering the slimy, cold hands that made them.

With a hiss, she shook her head sharply. Stop it. He does not have power over you. He's dead. You survived. You ARE a survivor Felicity Smoak. Her internal monologue had been the same all week. She was intelligent enough to know that the assault was not her fault, that she had put herself in a position of risk, yes. But that she was not at fault for what had happened. For what the Count had done. In the corner of her brain, she knew that she was being too logical, too rational about this. But what option did she have? Felicity Smoak did not fall apart. She did not crumble into anyone's arms, but especially not Oliver Queen's.

She shuddered, remembering the pain and devastation she had seen in his eyes. She had planned to never tell him, and still inwardly berated herself for being weak. For letting him in. She was an open person with few devastating secrets on a normal day, but this one was damaging to more than her.

While she may be able to compartmentalize the damage to herself, she couldn't hide or even look away as her words inflicted damage to Oliver. She had visibly seen the burden on his shoulders as she spoke, as he realized. She could practically dictate the thoughts that had gone through his mind in that moment. It's my fault. If I had been there faster. I failed her. If not for me, this wouldn't have happened. If I..if I…

For a moment, she joined in, feeling the weight of her own guilt. She had wanted to protect him from this. She may not be able to stop someone from attacking him, though she would always try. She couldn't prevent Isabel from getting under his skin or going after Queen Consolidated, but she tried. But she could prevent Oliver from knowing what had happened that night, from the pain she'd endured, from the nightmares that made insomnia a blessing. And she had failed him.

The weight of that reality followed her as she walked to her couch. She doesn't remember when she opened the bottle of wine on her coffee table but she didn't have any qualms about pouring herself a generous glass and settling back.

Something about the scene made her internally chuckle. Sitting there in the dark, bruised and broken in ways she couldn't begin to think about, alcohol in hand, waiting for Starling City's very own billionaire CEO and vigilante to come wallow in his own guilt. She needed these moments. She needed to build up the arguments she knows she will need. She has to convince him that this isn't his fault. She can't be the one to add to his burden. She had made it part of her mission, part of her goal as his Girl Friday and his friend to alleviate the burden, to take some of his pain.

So she stayed there, shivering a bit in the dark, steeling herself against the pain she refused to acknowledge while preparing to shoulder his.

It was well past midnight and her bottle of cab was half gone when he knocked lightly on the door. With a deep sigh, she rose from the couch, not bothering to set down her glass and padded softly to the front door.

She didn't need to check her peephole to know that he was waiting on the other side of the door. She swung it open, eyes falling to the floor as he came into view.

"Hey."

His gentle tone, much like the one he had used in front of her when he shut the door on their non-existent relationship, drew her attention and she let her eyes trace up his body to his face.

He had forgone the tux for jeans and a sweater, looking surprisingly at ease in her doorway, especially considering the state he had been in when she left him at the mansion. The faint light from the hallway illuminated his face, showing the red around his eyes and the ticking muscle in his jaw.

Without a word, she gestured for him to come in, waiting until he had passed to close and lock the door, before retreating back to her perch on the couch. The chill she had been unable to shake settled over the room as she felt his eyes on her from the entryway. With a sigh, she curled her feet underneath her, spreading the bright orange blanket from the back of the couch over her feet in a hope to cut the chill. As an afterthought, she moved aside the throw pillows on the couch, making room for him and offering an invitation without a word.

He seemed to understand her unspoken cue and sat by her, leaving a few inches between his leg and her curled up feet. Despite the distance, the heat of his body filled the space and she had to resist curling closer to it. For a moment, her resolve weakened, and the cold, tired, exhausted side of her wanted nothing more than to lean against his side and rest. And maybe cry. To enjoy the feeling of safety that was inherently Oliver. But she knew that wasn't an option. She couldn't be that girl. The stronger she was, the more she was able to hide the pain. And the less pain he saw, the better.

The silences between them had never been uncomfortable, and she wouldn't say this one was either. It was heavy however. And she found his steady gaze towards her in an effort to break it. But what she saw there stopped anything she had planned to say.

His eyes were clear and somehow soft. But determined. The anger was still there, but it was more tempered than it had been before. There was a layer of something else. Something she couldn't define or maybe, was afraid to. Hopeful to. It was a look she never expected he would favor her with. Worry, concern, trepidation, yes. But tenderness? That was something she never expected. And she found that in the wake of her realization, she had nothing to say.

He wanted to break the silence, but he honestly didn't know how. So he watched her, hoping to cue in on what she was feeling or thinking in that moment, anything to keep him from saying the wrong thing.

What had been covered by makeup for the last few days was plain to see now and he felt nauseous looking at the bruises on her arms. He silently hoped that was the extent of it, praying in his mind that her body was not marked by the Count the way her soul had.

She was too good for this. Dig had pointed that out to him in a way he couldn't ignore. Realizing the extent of her selflessness, not just towards their mission as a team, but to him, as a person, as her friend, floored him and honestly stole his breath. He couldn't remember the last time, if ever, someone had shown that kind of deep regard for him. Much less someone who knew all of him – deep, dark, scary, and all. No, only Felicity.

Observing her now, he couldn't help but feel the sucker punch of what that regard had cost her hit him in the chest. But as quickly as it struck him, he pushed it aside. What Dig had said about her taking care of him had made him sick only because it was so true, so accurate. Why else would she hide something so damaging, so terrifying. Why else would she try to walk through it alone.

She truly was remarkable.

She must have read his thoughts, eyes lifting hesitantly to meet his. For a moment, he gazed back at her, trying with all his might to communicate the emotions he knew he had trouble expressing. His admiration of her. His commitment to be there, to come for her, to look after her. His anger at what she had suffered. But most importantly, his focus on her. She stared at him, narrowing her eyes. He knew she was looking for the guilt, waiting for it. And even though the apology was on the tip of his tongue, he held it back, biting back the words that would raise her wall even higher. Knowing that in that moment, he had to be her friend. Not the Arrow. Not even Oliver Queen, her boss. But Oliver, her friend. Her friend that was terrified for her. Heartbroken over the trauma she had endured. He had to see that she could let him in.

If she has to do it much longer, she's going to break.

Dig's warning echoed in his mind, reminding him yet again of the urgency, of his purpose. It was time to take care of her. To be strong for her. To save her like she saved him day after day. To bring her in from the cold.

Locked eye to eye, he reached out a hesitant hand for hers, not touching it until she opened her palm to him. As soon as his large fingers called around hers, his eyes shot down in shock. Her hands were ice cold, despite the relative warmth of the room. His concern must've shown on his face as he looked back to her.

"I haven't been able to get warm. Not since I got home that night. It's just…cold," her voice wavered a bit as she spoke, making Oliver's chest ache. She instinctively pulled her blanket closer and started to pull her hand back.

He surprised her and himself by keeping a hold of it, rubbing it between both of his hands gently to stimulate circulation and hopefully warm her up a bit. Enclosed in both of his hands, he noticed how delicate hers was. It struck a chord within him and he felt the primal urge to protect the woman in front of him, to guard her from all harm, to look after her.

But you already failed.

Clenching his eyes shut, he fought against the thought. He had. He knew he had. He would be beating himself up for the rest of his life for not saving her from this. But tonight, he had the chance to do what he could do. However small it was.

When his eyes opened again, she had looked away, the tension in her neck noticeable as she fixed her gaze across the room. He resisted the urge to knead the tight muscle, knowing that would cross more lines than he could redraw, and could likely push her further behind the wall he was trying to climb.

"Felicity," his voice was a little firmer now, gentle but insistent. She turned towards him then, still allowing him to hold her hand in his. "I need to know. Are you hurt? Physically?" He hated to ask, but he knew that if she was injured, she wouldn't have said anything to him.

She inhaled sharply, jerking her eyes from him. "I'm fine," she ground out, stiffening her spine even tighter. With an imperceptible shake of his head, he tugged on her hand again. He couldn't let her shake this off.

"Felicity, you're not fine. Please don't lie to me," his soft tone betrayed the anguish he was feeling.

She sighed deeply, trying to hide the slight hitch he heard in her throat as she did so. "Just bruises, Oliver."

Those words carried a weight that filled the room. She tried to minimize it, but he could see the emotions playing across her face, knowing that she remember each bruise as it happened. That each bruise was a touch she had not permitted. That had been forced on her.

The rage he had barely kept in check earlier filled his veins to capacity and he had to consciously keep his hold on her hand soft, for fear of breaking the precious bones in his anger. He had tried to suppress the thought, the image, of the Count touching her, knowing that it would send him over the edge, but as he let his gaze drop to Felicity, he was unable to stop them.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the small container of ointment he had stopped to grab on the way. It seemed like such an insignificant thing, a band-aid on a gunshot wound, so to speak. Yet, something told him it was necessary. She had put the same cream on him so many times, reminding him that bruises still hurt, even if they faded quickly. Looking at her now, his heart broke knowing that those bruises cut deeper into her than he could see, and would carry scars long after they faded away.

He opened the cap and squeezed a small amount on his finger, warming it slightly between his fingers before looking up to her. With a calm and reassuring gaze, he spoke softly, "Felicity, can I touch you?"

The words seemed so ridiculous, so out of place, especially with this woman who thrived on giving and receiving affection. But he had read before coming here that it was what he needed to do, he needed to let things happen on her terms. To give her back a sense of control.

She looked anxiously from his hands to her arms where the bruises took on the foreboding shape of fingertips before nodding. He scooted a bit closer and gently took her arm in his grasp, rubbing the ointment over her bruises as softly as he could with the other hand. Her skin was so cold beneath his, and he noticed the goosebumps that rose as soon as he touched her. Catching her eyes, he smiled a reassuring smile and inwardly relaxed a bit when the tension in her arm released, softening in his grasp. He knew she wasn't afraid of him, that much was obvious after the week they had had. But he didn't want to push her. Didn't want her to feel anything but care from him. He repeated his ministrations silently, looking up at her at regular intervals to reassure her. Her eyes never left his face, searching. Waiting for something. Not untrusting, but unsure. He moved quietly to her other arm, noticing that the bruises were darker on this side, more pronounced. She hissed softly as he rubbed over a particularly dark one, roughly the size of a tennis ball with trails of yellow and green marring the flesh. Her soft noise of pain was like a knife in his heart and he had to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

While he was focused on taking care of her, the intimacy of the moment was not lost on him and it scared him to the core. On one hand, he was afraid to hurt her, to add to her trauma, to somehow trigger the pain she was keeping so tightly coiled inside her. On the other hand, he was terrified to end it. To step out of this bubble where it was just him, a man, Oliver – not a billionaire CEO or even a crime-fighting vigilante – but a man. Taking care of a woman he cared for. More deeply than he was willing to admit. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to replace the feelings of fear and pain she was trying to hide from him with security and even…love. He wanted to tear down the wall she was hiding behind and make her feel safe there with him.

He was afraid this was all clear in his eyes as they lifted to meet hers. "Is there anywhere else?" He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek then, seeing how delicate and vulnerable she looked sitting in front of him. In the same moment, she reminded him of her strength, steeling herself as he watched and withdrawing a bit. She self-consciously tugged on her shirt, pulling the blanket higher, but not before Oliver caught a glimpse of the skin above her neckline.

"Felicity…" he regretted the gasp that came out as his eyes took in the black and blue marbling across her chest and running beneath the soft border of her tank top. He didn't let his eyes follow the progression of the bruises but his mind filled in the rest, sending white hot anger into his veins. Moving his hands to his sides, he clenched them for a moment, trying desperately to cool his rage before turning back to her. She needed him. Not angry him. But him. He had to cool down now.

She had tried to cover the bruising but knew it was too late. Oliver had seen the bruises and more than likely had imagined how extensive they were. She watched as he turned away slightly, trying to calm the anger she had seen flash through his eyes. The gentle calm in the room broken, she leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. She knew him, she knew what was going through his mind right now.

"Oliver, please. This isn't your fault. Please-" Her voice came out much weaker than she would have liked, but stronger than he expected considering the soft haze she had fallen into who while he took care of her arms.

He turned to her with an unreadable look in his eyes, tilting his head to the side. His lips were pressed firmly together and she felt a wave of guilt crash over her as he gazed at her.

He moved to his knees, crouching in front of her, regarding her with a stare of quiet intensity, "Felicity," he choked slightly on her name, and she felt her eyes well as she watched the emotion flick unchecked across his face. "I am…I am so sorry he hurt you." She opened her mouth to speak, but he gripped her hand, pausing the argument she was about to make. "I know you made your choice to stand by me. And what you did going after him alone…" he shook his head, "was stupid. Very brave, but stupid." She dropped her head, losing the battle to the wave of guilt washing over her in the moment. His forefinger appeared in her line of vision, tipping her chin to face him. His eyes softened as he caught sight of the tears threatening to fall. "Felicity, I wish with every piece of me that I had prevented this. That I had saved you from this. That I hadn't been too late. I would go back in a heartbeat and take your place. Take the pain. Keep you safe. I would do anything to take the pain from you right now."

She had stopped trying to hold back the tears, knowing that she had failed her singular goal. She had caused him pain. Inadvertently, yes. But all the same. She felt the cold intensify around her and tried to choke back the sob that was threatening to fall from her lips when she felt his hands on her cheeks, lifting her gaze to his again.

"Felicity, listen to me. I'm sorry I wasn't there, but right now-" he caught her dipping chin, cupping her face softly in his hands, "right now I can't change what happened. Right now, I want to ease your pain. I want to help you. I know you didn't want me to know. You didn't want to add to my pain. But I can't bear to see you like this. This isn't your burden to bear alone, Felicity." His eyes were bright and she could see the sincerity, the urgency in his expression as he lowered his voice, "Please, let me help you. Let me in."

His words proved to be her undoing, combined with the thrill that jumped through her chest at his touch. Her strength faltered and she cracked, the tears pouring from her eyes and body hunching over.

She heard a low keening cry, not even realizing it had come from her until she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her, circling her and tugging her into the place of safety she had purposefully avoided all week. His cheek pressed to her hair, his hands running softly across her back and down her arms, his words softly repeating that she wasn't alone, that she was safe. For the first time in days, she believed it. And the wave she had tried to stay above crashed over her.

Oliver didn't know whether to be terrified or relieved as Felicity collapsed into his arms, shaking and weeping, grasping onto him as if he was the only thing keeping her from drowning. He didn't give himself the moment to over think it, hauling her into his chest and moving to lean against the back of the couch. She buried her face in his neck, laying across his lap as she sobbed. He caught himself pressing reassuring kisses to the crown of her head, whispering that she was safe, that he had her, that he wasn't letting go. He wasn't sure if any of it was penetrating, but he kept telling her, hoping that the words would take root in her soul and begin to replace the fear that had taken up residence there.

Holding her, he felt the emotion of the moment hit him as well and he wasn't surprised to find tears on his own face as his heart broke over the woman in his arms. Her strength and fortitude astounded him, even in this moment. Knowing that she had held all of this inside, for his sake, was a reality that would take him longer than tonight to process. It changed things. How could it not? But in the moment, it served to show the depth of her beauty. Of her devotion to him. Closing his eyes, he could only hold her closer, infusing all the warmth he could into her cold frame, willing his arms to replace the ones that her terrorized her and wounded her. Willing his gentle touch on her arms to erase the bruising grip she felt that night. Willing the overwhelming care that he felt towards her to permeate the walls that had been erected around her heart since the Count battered her soul. He knew he couldn't take her pain, however badly he wanted to, but now, here, he could fight it. He could beat it back. Not with his bow and arrows, or with his brute strength, but with his embrace, with a gentle hand through her hair, with quiet promises of safety in her ear.

And he did. Long after he felt her muscles relax and her body began to collapse tiredly against him. Long after her shuddering sobs turned to whimpers and then to quiet puffs of breath on his neck. Long after she cried herself into an exhausted sleep, plagued by night terrors that rivaled his own. Long after he covered them both with the blanket on her couch, tucking her in to ward off the cold. Long after he fell asleep himself, still wrapped around her tightly.

He would keep beating it back, as long as she would let him.

\- Fin -


End file.
